


All Men Are Knights

by girloficeandfire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girloficeandfire/pseuds/girloficeandfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU that deviates from canon when Sansa meets her Florian in the godswood of the Red Keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: Florian & Jonquil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valyriansteel1](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=valyriansteel1).



> DISCLAIMER: Characters and dialogue excerpts are GRRM's and his alone.
> 
> sanXsan LJ community commentfic meme prompt: AU of ACOK in which the Hound is Sansa's Florian instead of Ser Dontos. Not at ALL sure how that would work but I totally love the idea of Sansa sneaking off to the godswood to meet Sandor every night (or as often as she can at least) and of Sandor being Sansa's secret savior.
> 
> (Title is a reference to this passage from The Hedge Knight: “‘A fool and a knight?’ said Jonquil. ‘I have never heard of such a thing.’  
> ‘Sweet lady,’ said Florian, ‘all men are fools and all men are knights, where women are concerned.’”)

*******

 _Come to the godswood tonight, if you want to go home._  
  
She'd burned the parchment that bore those words, but still they ran through her head, over and over and over again.  
  
The godswood. Tonight. _Home._  
  
Sansa wanted to go just as much as she _didn't_ want to go, and when she heard the shouts and saw the bridge suddenly undefended...it was as if the decision had been made for her.  
  
Once she was surrounded by the trees a strange stillness enveloped Sansa, and she found herself praying to the old gods she'd generally ignored for most of her life. _Help me. Send me a friend, a true knight to champion me..._  
  
She moved deeper into the godswood, running her fingers across the trees as she passed them, wondering who this person was, where this person was, whether it was a trap after all...  
  
"I don't know if I should be glad that you're here, or call you stupid for responding to a summons without knowing who it was from," a familiar voice rasped.  
  
The Hound stepped out of the shadows, and Sansa breathed a sigh that was part shock, part disappointment...and part relief.  
  
*******  
  
Well, that was that - the little bird was a complete and utter fool. He'd suspected, of course, but now he knew for sure.  
  
 _More fool you, for participating in this buggering farce._  
  
He almost hadn't come. Wouldn't have, in fact, if it weren't for all that wine. A gift for helping the girl, the note had said. He knew who it came from and shouldn't have trusted the person or the drink, but he'd ingested the damned stuff anyway and now here he was.  
  
 _And if she's an arse for obeying that note's instructions, you're an arse for getting involved in this at all._  
  
The little bird had been silent for some time, but finally she whispered, "It...it was you?"  
  
Sandor backed up, stumbling a bit as he leaned against the closest tree and folded his arms across his chest. He assumed she meant the note, and while he'd neither written nor delivered the thing, she needn't know who had. "Aye."  
  
"Wh...what do you want from me?" the girl stuttered. Sandor rolled his eyes.  
  
"To help you, I suppose," he grunted.  
  
Sansa Stark bit her lip and cut her eyes at him, then immediately looked away. _As usual._ "You're drunk, aren't you?"  
  
He shrugged. "And what of it? Do you want my help or not, little bird?"  
  
She seemed to be fingering something that was tucked up her sleeve, and quick as lightning Sandor reached out and took hold of her wrist with one hand, using the other to extract the little knife from her grip. He chuckled at the shock and fright that flashed across her face. "Did you think to kill me, girl?" he asked, but deep within he felt a stab of respect for even this little bit of intelligence and courage on her part.  
  
"N-no, my lord...pardons...I never...I didn't know who would be here..."  
  
"Like as not you thought it would be some handsome knight. Or at least _hoped_ it would be. Well, instead you've got me. No lord, no knight, here on a fool's errand and drunk to boot." He laughed again and the little bird cringed and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. "Have no fear, though, little bird. Isn't there a song about a fool who was greater than any true knight, or some such nonsense?"  
  
Sansa Stark stiffened in his grip. "Florian," she murmured. "Florian and Jonquil."  
  
"If you say so. You'd know the song better than I, girl."  
  
"How...how will you take me home?" was all that she said in response.  
  
"Have to get you out of the castle first, but then a ship, I suppose. That would be easiest anyway." In all truth he hadn't much thought about the how. _Didn't think much about the_ why _either, but then what good would it do you if you had?_  
  
"Could we go now?" she asked, and the obvious hope in her voice caused him to release her hand as if she'd stung him.  
  
" _Now_?" Sandor replied incredulously, again thinking what a fool this girl was. "This isn't a thing to be done immediately, girl." He eyed the small blade in his hand for a long moment, then thrust it back toward her, hilt-first. "Put this away. I'll get you home, I can promise you that, but it'll be done on my time. And remember, if we need to meet or talk it will be here and only here. And don't expect me to be suddenly kind or courteous to you, little bird. The wrong look, the wrong word, the wrong move, and the king and his bitch mother will have both our heads. Like they did your father's. Understand?"  
  
Sansa Stark's chin trembled, but she nodded and no tears spilled from her eyes. "Please..." she finally begged. "Please, make it soon."  
  
He almost responded to that. _Almost._ But the harsh words stuck in his throat and instead Sandor only rasped, "You should return to your chambers. Before you're missed. Come." He gestured toward the path and the little bird turned tentatively toward it. Only when Sandor placed his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, and gave her as gentle a push as he could manage did she move.  
  
Sandor remained silent as they walked, knowing that if he said anything this entire situation would unravel quick as that little shit of a king's temper did when things didn't go his way.  
  
 _Don't think about Joffrey,_ he told himself. _You and your sword belong to_ her _now._  
  
*******  
  
Most of their walk back to Maegor's was quiet - until they came upon Ser Boros guarding the drawbridge. Sansa stopped automatically, flinching against the Hound's hand when he tried to continue pushing her forward. He moved his hand to her shoulder, though, and after a few rude words with Ser Boros they were on their way again. _What if he hadn't been there?_ she thought, trying to breathe through her panic.  
  
"Why do you let him call you a dog, when you won't let anyone call you a knight?" she finally asked him, hoping that a conversation, any conversation, would calm her.  
  
"You think I want to be on the same level with the likes of him?" The Hound jerked his thumb back at Ser Boros. "I like dogs better than knights. But you...you like your knights, I know. The ones in the songs, the same songs that you chirp because that's what you were taught to do. Why don't you sing me a song? Maybe that one you mentioned before about the fool and his cunt?"  
  
His harsh words scared her, but Sansa stood her ground. "Florian and Jonquil," she corrected him, surprised at the steely tone her voice took on just then. "I will sing it for you gladly."  
  
He snorted in derision. "Spare me. You're a pretty little bird and a very bad liar. A dog can sniff out a lie, you know. And a dog won't lie to you, either. Die for you, maybe, but never lie to you. And mark my words - one day I'll have a song from you, girl."  
  
The Hound left her outside of her chambers then, and when she entered them Sansa lay down on her bed and wept. His horrible scars, rough voice and angry words were nothing like she'd imagined in the one who was to rescue her from this place...so how could he be her Florian, really and truly?  
  
*******  
  
He'd not meant to visit the godswood quite so often as he did.  
  
Sometimes the little bird was there, sometimes she wasn't. But Sandor did know one very important thing - she came when she could, and that was, in fact, quite a bit. More often than not they didn't speak at all, but rather she knelt before the trees, her lips moving in silent prayer, while he pretended he wasn't watching her, though in fact...  
  
Sandor wanted to hate Sansa Stark, to scoff at her as he did all knights and lords and ladies, but even he could not help but notice the innocence with which she repeated the little chirpings taught to her by her mother and her septa. _She's no Lannister_ he slowly realized. She was beautiful, and looked a woman grown, but really she was just a silly child doing as she was told. By Joffrey, by Cersei, even by himself.  
  
Once in a while the little bird would work up the courage to ask if they would go soon. Sandor would grunt dismissively, but the problem was that he often wondered this himself. He'd had little or no contact with the one who'd set this in motion, and patience had never been Sandor's strong suit. That, and having to witness Joffrey continuing to beat Sansa Stark down - with words more often than the fists of his kingsguard now, but still doing it nonetheless - was a constant strain on Sandor's self control. He'd already been warned - _"Hold your temper, your words, and your sword. If you act out against the king, even to protect her, everything will be ruined. Joffrey will have your head and she will be left to her own devices. You know as well as I that in such a situation, she will not last very long."_  
  
That last bit, though...wasn't necessarily true. Sansa Stark sometimes had a glint in her eye as she considered doing something she shouldn't, or steel in her voice when spoke out against the king. Sandor would never forget the day Joffrey had forced her to accompany him to the battlements, the day that Sansa had threatened that maybe her brother Robb would give her Joffrey's head, and then minutes later had very obviously considered pushing the king to his death. _And thank any and all gods who exist that I'm the only one who witnessed that,_ Sandor continually found himself thinking.  
  
Still, she was best not left without any protection at all, so Sandor held his tongue and stayed his sword and watched over Sansa Stark as she moved through the Red Keep like a pale and icy ghost of the girl she'd once been.  
  
*******  
  
Though the Hound rarely spoke to her, and though at times she still felt uncomfortable around him, Sansa had almost become used to his presence.  
  
 _Especially in the godswood._  
  
At times he even reminded her of her father - when he was being quiet and stern, in moments when his gray eyes weren't flashing in anger. But Sansa was not quite so silly as the Hound thought, and she knew he was nothing like the honorable Lord Eddard Stark.  
  
 _Yet he will help me all the same._  
  
Sansa's life was something of a blur. When she was able, she hid herself away in her chambers or the godswood, away from Joffrey's sickening smirks and the Queen's cold stares, away from the Imp's curious looks and the lecherous grins of the men at court who noticed that her dresses no longer fit her, the fabric straining across her chest, so uncomfortably tight that she had to take heaving breaths - though she knew that doing so just made everything worse.  
  
 _The Hound never looks at you like that._  
  
He didn't. _He didn't._ Sometimes he gave her ugly smiles, sometimes his lip would twitch, but he never _smirked_ , never looked at her as if she were...a piece of meat, or a whore. She knew that he watched her as she prayed in the godswood, as she witnessed Joffrey hold court, but his gazes were mostly thoughtful, never hateful or strangely curious. He simply _saw_ her, _guarded_ her.  
  
Even when they did converse, the Hound still wouldn't tell her who had sent him to do so, when they would leave, _how_ they would leave.  
  
Yet despite it all, Sansa found herself _trusting_ him.  
  
*******  
  
He was with the king when the news came of Oxcross, and Sandor knew that this did not bode well - mostly for the little bird, but for him, also. There was danger in Joffrey's eyes when he ordered his dog to fetch his betrothed.  
  
As Sandor strode away from the bailey and the archery butts, a voice whispered from the shadows, "Fetch her, Clegane. Bring her here. Otherwise, keep quiet."  
  
The corner of Sandor's mouth twitched madly.  
  
When he knocked on the door to Sansa Stark's chambers, she looked first shocked, and then _excited_. "Now?" she breathed, and for a moment he wanted to say yes, wanted to scoop her up and take her away from here and save her like a knight in one of her songs or stories would do...  
  
Instead he shook his head. "The king commands your presence."  
  
Her face fell and went pale all at once. "I...I should..." She gestured helplessly and he assumed she meant to change her gown, brush her hair, make herself pretty for Joffrey _fucking_ Baratheon.  
  
"The longer you keep him waiting, the worse it will go for you," Sandor warned. The little bird gave a small, stiff nod and shut herself in her chambers, exiting several minutes later in a new gown, her hair brushed smooth. He turned abruptly and began walking, so that she had to hurry a bit to walk by his side.  
  
"Tell me what I've done," she pleaded.  
  
 _You've done nothing, but you'll be punished anyway._ "Not you. Your kingly brother."  
  
"Robb's a traitor," the little bird intoned. "I had no part in whatever he did."  
  
Unbidden, a noise that was something between a scoff and a snort left Sandor's mouth. "They trained you well, little bird."  
  
The fools of the court were gathered around the archery butts, where the little shit king had apparently just impaled a cat with his crossbow. The little bird picked her way around the dying animal and was accosted by the fool Dontos. Sandor felt his stomach twist in anger when that arse laid a hand on Sansa's arm and whispered something to her, but while Sansa cringed from the fool's touch she also forced a smile at his words, before approaching Joffrey and falling to her knees before him. Sandor felt his hands clench into fists at this display, but somehow he forced himself to remain stoic as the king snapped at her, causing the little bird to chirp weak protests about how she had no part in her brother's actions.  
  
"Get her up!" Joffrey commanded, and before one of the other kingsguard could touch her Sandor was there, lifting Sansa Stark to her feet in as gentle a manner as he could muster.  
  
Lancel Lannister was called upon to describe the events of Oxcross, and Sandor had to choke back a laugh when the boy blamed the Lannister loss on an "army of wargs". Robb Stark had beaten Stafford Lannister fair and square, but it was just like Joff to believe that the only way a Lannister could be slain was by "vile sorcery".  
  
Now the girl was arguing about that damn wolf Cersei'd had killed, and Sandor wanted nothing more than to tell her to keep her mouth shut. Didn't she know that saying anything other than her pleasant little chirpings would cause more harm than good? Sure enough, Joffrey began bragging about the peasant he'd killed the night before - one of many men and women who'd come begging at the walls for bread. "I shot the loudest one right through the throat," the king smirked.  
  
"And he died?" Sansa Stark's voice was shaky and weak with fear, and she obviously couldn't take her eyes off the crossbow that was pointed at her head.  
  
"Of course he died, he had my quarrel through his throat." Joffrey's tone said quite plainly how stupid he thought the little bird was, but as he continued talking about the people he'd shot with his crossbow he did thankfully lower the weapon.  
  
For a moment Sandor breathed easy - just for a moment. But then there was something about punishment and the unmistakeable command - "Dog, hit her."  
  
Time stopped for Sandor, just then. Somehow Joffrey had never uttered those words, or anything like them, before - and Sandor had counted himself lucky, because he knew that he could not hit this girl just as he knew that disobeying the king's orders would mean the end of everything he'd known for going on sixteen years.  
  
And now he stood frozen, comprehending the words but unable to follow through with them - and it was Dontos the fool who saved him, saved _her_ , and in that moment Sandor wasn't sure who he hated most - Joffrey, Ser Dontos, or himself.  
  
The fool on his broomstick began hitting the little bird over the head with a melon, and Sandor thought, hoped, wished, _prayed_ , even, that the king would laugh. But he didn't. "Boros. Meryn."  
  
For a moment there was a surge of something like thanks that rose in Sandor's chest - just for a moment. He hadn't been called upon to beat her, but doing so was not something that Ser _fucking_ Boros and Ser _fucking_ Meryn would shy away from.  
  
He'd never stopped it before, but this time, _this time_...she screamed, yet they kept beating her, and before Sandor even knew what he was doing the word "Enough" had escaped his lips, and it was all he could say but not all he wanted to say and he had never despised himself more than he did right then, when Joffrey said, "No it isn't," and, "Boros, make her naked."  
  
Ser Boros tore the little bird's dress from her and all the while Sandor stood there, every loyalty he'd known for over half his life fighting with the only loyalty that had ever had any worth, loyalty to her, to her innocence and her sweetness and how she reminded him of the sister he'd lost so long ago and -  
  
"What is the meaning of this?"  
  
Sandor had never been so relieved to see that fucking Imp in his life. Relieved, but beneath that feeling anger was bubbling. There was a roaring in his ears and through it he heard Tyrion Lannister, that seven-times-damned dwarf, chastising Boros and Meryn for beating the girl. _You could have done that, you_ should _have done that..._  
  
"Someone give the girl something to cover herself with," the Imp ordered.  
  
This, Sandor _did_ do. It was something, wasn't it, though not nearly enough. He unfastened his white kingsguard cloak. He wanted to carry it to her, place it over her shoulders, give her a reassuring touch or word...  
  
 _She's as frightened of you as she is of them, dog._  
  
He tossed the cloak to Sansa Stark, and had to look away as she clutched it to her bare chest. Then Tyrion ordered his sellsword and that Burned Man that was always hanging around to bring the little bird away, and she was gone, and Sandor was left there, left to dwell on what he'd just allowed to happen, left to realize that he'd japed about being the girl's Florian when nothing could be farther from the truth.  
  
If he could not even outright refuse to hit her, if he could not force those fucking _knights_ to stop doing so, how could he ever think to take her away from this place, or to protect her once that was done?  
  
*******  
  
And just like that, her trust in the Hound was gone.  
  
Part of Sansa screamed _there was nothing he could do!_ \- while something else inside of her cried out that a cowardly drunk fool had helped her more than Sandor Clegane had. A cowardly drunk fool, and then a dwarf. The Imp, nonetheless, who was himself a Lannister.  
  
Tyrion had been kind to her, and had seen through some of her lies...but he had not understood her. Claiming that he had wanted to be away from Lannisters as well, when he was young...thinking that was one of few things she could want...but she wanted so much more. She wanted Robb to vanquish all of their enemies, she wanted Joffrey to die, she wanted to return to the home she'd once, unbelievably, longed to leave.  
  
She wanted to flee to the godswood, wanted the Hound to be there, wanted him to take her away from here once and for all.  
  
At least the Imp did believe her lie about why she didn't want to stay in the Tower of the Hand. Nightmares she may have, but they weren't specific to that Tower.  
  
 _How could they be?_  
  
With the sellsword Bronn and the Burned Man Timett trailing behind them, Tyrion Lannister escorted Sansa back to her chamber in Maegor's. When he left her at the door, the Imp gazed up at her, cocking his head so that his dark eye focused on her, seemed to cut through her, to _see_ through her. "I am sorry for today, Lady Sansa. Take care of yourself. _Be_ careful."  
  
It seemed to her that there was a deeper meaning to his words, but he couldn't _know_...could he? Sansa nodded weakly and thanked him, but waited until he turned and beckoned to his men before she reached to open the door to her room. For a moment she could have sworn she saw a movement, a large dark shadow, out of the corner of her eye, down the hall in the direction opposite that which the Imp was leaving...but then she blinked and it seemed to be gone, and with a sigh Sansa let herself through the door and barred it behind her.  
  
When morning came Sansa's entire body ached, and there were ugly bruises across her legs where Boros Blount had laid the flat of his blade. She wanted to weep, but strangely enough the tears would not come. Instead she pleaded illness and kept to her bed, that day and the next and the next, until Tyrion Lannister sent a kindly note that begged her to allow herself to be seen around the Keep. "Hiding away will not make Joffrey forget you are here, but I promise that if you come to court I will not let anyone harm you. Go to the godswood and say your prayers; I know that it comforts you to do so."  
  
She had not seen Sandor since that day by the archery butts in the bailey; she was not sure she could count that shadow that may or may not have existed, may or may not have been him. _Does he still plan to take me away from here?_ she wondered.  
  
 _Do I still_ want _him to?_  
  
So Sansa finally ate the food that had been sent to her room. She called the maids to bathe her and when their eyes widened and their eyebrows arched over the slowly fading bruises, she glared at them and set her chin. _I will wear my hurts proudly, and when they run to Cersei to tell her how I am they will have nothing of import to say._  
  
Sansa dressed in her least revealing gown; something that got more and more difficult with the passing days. Even when she ate little, she grew anyway, and as she was a prisoner, daughter and sister to traitors, the Lannisters obviously saw no reason to keep her in proper garments. One foot in front of the other, Sansa made her way to the godswood, her heart pounding in her chest, trying not to look behind her or to either side for fear that she was being followed, or for fear that if someone saw something they didn't like, she _would_ be followed. It wasn't until she stepped down the path that led into the trees and was enveloped, the noise of the Red Keep muffled by this sacred old place, that Sansa took a deep, shuddering breath and allowed herself to relax - just a bit, just a _little_ bit.  
  
As she knelt in front of one of her usual trees, there was a rustle behind her, the sound of heavy footfalls, but somehow she wasn't afraid. Somehow she knew that it was _him_.  
  
"Will we leave soon?" she asked, as she had so many times before.  
  
The Hound made an exasperated sound, a sort of rumble low in his throat. "I don't know yet, little bird."  
  
*******  
  
Every spare moment of every day since he'd watched her get beaten and stripped and done next to nothing about it, Sandor had returned to the godswood in hopes that the little bird would be there. He'd waited for her outside her chambers that very night, but then the fucking Imp had been with her and she'd locked herself inside her room before he could show himself. She'd been in there ever since, he knew, and now that she'd finally stepped outside Sandor almost didn't care about the why.  
  
The day after Sansa Stark's terrible beating, with sword in hand Sandor had gone to the person who'd been pulling his strings, demanding to be given the means to take her away - _immediately_. But there was no fright in the eyes of this puppeteer, and the only answer Sandor received was, "Not now, but soon. I cannot and will not tell you exactly when - but I promise you that you will _know_. And when that time comes you best follow the instructions I've given you. Now go. We shouldn't be seen together."  
  
Of course the little bird had to ask him if they could leave soon. _Of course._ He hated himself all the more - if that was even possible - for not being able to give her the answer she wanted. She'd not even turned to look at him - or in his direction, rather - when she'd asked; and instead of responding to him she remained silent and continued to kneel facing the tree.  
  
Several long moments passed. Sandor could feel his fingers itching to touch her, but if he did...would she cry out? Would she strike his hand away? Or would she simply ignore him and bear in silence a touch that was sure to horrify her? He took a tentative step forward; she didn't move. He found himself staring at a lock of hair that had caught on the neckline of her gown, the only piece of that auburn beauty that was out of place.  
  
Sandor reached out and gently pinched the lock between his thumb and forefinger, the tip of the latter brushing against the bare skin above her gown as he did so. The little bird remained as still as could be - until he dropped the chunk of hair and tentatively placed his large hand on her shoulder, so similar to the way she'd touched him the night he'd told her how he'd gotten his scars.  
  
And that's when she stood and spun to face him, moving so abruptly that Sandor nearly lost his balance. _Damn wine._ After avoiding the stuff in hopes of seeing her that first day, and wanting to have his wits about him if he did, Sandor had quickly turned back to drinking - only stopping when he had to be at Joffrey's side, or while he caught the few scant hours of sleep he allowed himself each night. Just now he'd swallowed down three wineskins waiting for her in this damned godswood, and -  
  
"Why?" Sansa Stark was asking, tears welling in her eyes. "Why are you here? Why did you ever send me that note? Why did you get my hopes up and say you would take me away from this place, when clearly you never meant to do so? Why did you stand by and...and..." She had begun beating on his chest; not that her small girlish fists could cause him pain, and in his shock at her outburst Sandor let her do it for a moment, two, three, before finally reaching up and catching her wrists in his hands.  
  
He wanted to apologize, wanted to say he was sorry, wanted to clasp her against him and _hold_ her...but he looked into those Tully blue eyes and was lost.  
  
*******  
  
When the Hound grabbed her wrists his grip was cruel as usual, but when he looked into her eyes his expression was...abashed. Almost _sad_. For what seemed quite a long time, they stared at each other in silence.  
  
"You're hurting me," Sansa finally whispered, wriggling in his grasp. The Hound released her, fairly flinging her hands away from him - almost as if they were on fire. She rubbed at her wrists and stole a glance at him, but he'd turned away and was pacing amongst the trees. "I'm sorry for hitting you," she heard herself say. Part of her _was_ sorry...but mostly she just didn't want him to be angry with her.  
  
Sandor Clegane spun on his heel and suddenly he was kneeling in front of her, his eyes trained on the ground between them. Sansa waited, but when he spoke it was not an apology of his own. "You were in your rights," he said, and the misery in his voice was plain as day. She opened her mouth to reply, to argue, perhaps - but before she could he continued, "It will be soon."  
  
It was a fact, not a promise - Sansa heard that in his voice as well - and she would take what she could get. She moved to touch him, suddenly wanting to cup his cheek in her palm, to make him look at her, to see into the gray eyes that reminded her of Arya when they were angry, and of her father when they were not. But as she reached for the Hound he stood and backed away, avoiding her touch and her gaze as he turned to leave. For just a moment he stopped, turning his head toward her so that she could see the unburnt side of his face, the sun filtering through the trees to highlight his heavy brow and hooked nose. Not handsome features, no; but _strong_.  
  
"Soon," he rasped. And then he was gone, leaving her alone with her trees and her prayers, her memories and her hopes.  
  
*******  
  
Everything he did was wrong, wrong, wrong. He'd touched her and hurt her, and then her courtesies had led _her_ to apologize to _him_. It was more than he could bear. He'd had to leave her there in the godswood, and he hadn't been back since. The little bird continued to keep to her chambers more often than not; when she did emerge he saw her only at court, though at times he followed her about. Always at a safe distance, where she wouldn't see him, wouldn't have to speak to him or suffer through him touching her in any way.  
  
The day that the princess Myrcella sailed from King's Landing, Sandor and Sansa both were required to attend the farewell on the docks. Sandor watched as Marcella - a far better child than her older brother had ever been - waved her goodbyes from the deck of the Seaswift, while weak little Tommen sobbed and Joffrey cast insults and the little bird stood up for the sweet younger prince. When they were finally able to mount and make their way back to the Red Keep, the only thing between Sandor and Sansa Stark was Joffrey on his horse. It was the closest Sandor had been to her since that day in the godswood, nearly a fortnight ago.  
  
As they rode the dirty peasants crowded close - too close for Sandor's liking. There was hunger in their eyes, starvation even, along with things he recognized - anger, and _hatred_. When one woman thrust her dead baby at the king Sandor thought _this won't end well_ \- but then the little bird chirped in Joffrey's ear, and he actually flung a coin at the peasant.  
  
But before Sandor could even think to breathe a sigh of relief, Queen _fucking_ Cersei had to speak out - and then the peasant dropped the body of her dead child and began screaming insults and before he knew it the king's hair was full of shit - literally - and Joffrey was ordering him to find the man who'd thrown it. Sandor swung down from his horse, but the crowd had pushed close and before he could move any further the Imp commanded, "Clegane, leave off. The man is long fled."  
  
Sandor would have gladly listened to Tyrion Lannister - for once - but Joffrey would not let it go. "Dog, cut through them and bring - "  
  
The king was cut off by a roar of noise from the peasants as they yelled out more insults and took up the cry for bread, bread, bread, stones and rotten food and gods only knew what else suddenly flying through the air - at Joffrey, his uncle, their guards and the little bird, the little bird, _fuck, I_ have _to keep her safe..._  
  
Fools, the lot of them, for coming out here knowing that the city wanted food. In wanting food, wanting it like this, they'd also want blood. How did they not understand this? Sandor heard the Imp yell, "Back to the castle! Ride!" and when he turned they were barreling through the crowds, his horse alongside them. Curses flew from Sandor's mouth then, but when he spun to knock back the peasants who'd come too close he saw that Sansa Stark was not so far away, and still on her horse _thank the gods, whether they exist or not..._ Her hair had been pulled loose and a trickle of blood ran down her face but she was safe, _safe_ -  
  
And then he saw it. Some filthy fucking fool reaching for her, _grabbing_ her, and Sandor charged forward, was at her side in the work of a moment, his sword _hissing_ through the air and slicing off the man's arm, _just so._  
  
Sandor wrapped one hand in the reins of Sansa's horse and swung himself up in front of her, didn't even have time to relish the feel of her arms wrapped tight about his waist before he saw Santagar being beaten to death with a rock mere feet away. "Don't look!" he yelled, and he felt the little bird bury her head against his back as he ran his sword through one of Ser Aron's attackers.  
  
It hit him, then, the words coming back in a rush - _"soon...I cannot and will not tell you exactly when - but I promise you that you will_ know _...and when that time comes you best follow the instructions I've given you."_  
  
The king and his mother, the damnable Imp, the other members of the kingsguard, the lords and ladies of court forced to attend Myrcella's send-off - they had all fled, or died, and he was alone with Sansa Stark.  
  
Outside the walls of the Red Keep.  
  
If now wasn't the time, Sandor didn't know when could ever be better.  
  
He dug his heels into Sansa's chestnut courser, and did what he did best - followed his orders.


	2. Lannisters & Longswords

*******  
  
As frightened as she was, when Sansa suddenly realized that they were not going back to the Red Keep her heart soared. Her horse plucked its way quickly through the streets of King's Landing, the Hound guiding the mare deftly. Sansa kept her cheek pressed against his back and her eyes closed. _My Florian, my Florian, he's saved me for true!_ She was practically singing the words in her head.  
  
They were behind the hill of Rhaenys when Sandor Clegane finally reigned the horse to a stop. Immediately he dismounted and pulled her down as well, glancing left and right. The horse was to her back and a two-story house to her front, but it appeared he was still concerned that she would be seen, recognized. "Take this," he said gruffly, unclasping his white kingsguard cloak and tossing it over her shoulders. "Pull it up to cover your hair. Seven hells, you're going to be difficult to hide."  
  
Sansa did as she was told, clutching at the coarse wool fabric and remembering how wonderful this same cloak had felt the day Joffrey had had her stripped in front of half the court. From the corner of her eye she saw the Hound hand the reigns of her horse to someone. "Hide this horse away, and don't dare bring it out for quite some time," he growled to the unseen stable hand. The Hound then laid a hand on her shoulder and steered her through the closest doorway, so that Sansa barely had time to register her surroundings.  
  
Oh, but register them she did, once they were through that door. The heavy, spicy scent of the place assaulted Sansa's senses, and between the dark-skinned woman in silks waiting for them and the highly questionable mosaic on the floor, there was no question what type of place this was. In a sudden fit of courage she swatted Sandor Clegane's hand from her shoulder and rounded on him. "You've brought me to a _brothel_ ," she hissed, her hurt and anger plain in her voice.  
  
The Hound chuckled as if at a secret jape. "It _is_ the finest one in the city, little bird," he rasped.  
  
"Come, my dear," the woman in silks said. She was almost frighteningly beautiful, Sansa noticed, and though she spoke the Common Tongue she had an accent with the smoothly flowing lilt of the Summer Isles. She beckoned Sansa forward and the Hound followed at their heels as they passed a common room screened off from the hall and several alcoves where whores dandled on the laps of their clients. Sansa averted her eyes, feeling her face grow hot with embarrassment. She wanted to look at the Hound, but she was afraid that if she did she'd see him eying the girls and...oh, why in the name of the Seven had he brought her _here_?  
  
Up the stairs they went, until the woman finally deposited them in a small but sumptuously decorated room at the very end of the hall. "I was told that you must not leave until nightfall. They will be looking for you just now. When the moon is high my daughter Alayaya will come for you and show you where to go, and someone else will meet you once you've followed her instructions. I do suggest you keep quiet. I'm to lock you in now, but I will send someone with food and wine very soon. There is a washbasin for the lady," the woman said kindly, turning to Sansa. "You look quite shaken."  
  
Sansa reached up and brushed her mussed hair away from her face, suddenly remembering the press of the peasants and the stones and food and dung whizzing through the air...the garlicky breath of the man who'd tried to pull her from her saddle...tears began to well in her eyes but she bit them back and nodded her thanks.  
  
"If you have need of me, ask for Chataya," the woman smiled, and bowed herself out of the room. Sansa heard the lock click and a sudden panic rose like bile in her throat. _Locked in a bedroom at a brothel, what will become of me?_ she thought, clutching at the front of her gown and trying to compel herself to breathe. She backed up into the bed and sat down heavily, her heart fluttering and a weight settling on her chest as if some invisible force was trying to suffocate her...   
  
Suddenly the Hound was kneeling in front of her, his hands braced on either side of her thighs, so close that if she moved the slightest bit they could - would - brush against her. "You are not trapped here, little bird," he reassured her, and though his hideous scarring made her want to look away, she didn't. Instead she stared into his gray eyes, so like her father's just now, and within moments she was breathing properly again.  
  
"How did you know?" she asked. She meant _how did you know what was wrong_ and _how did you know what to say_...and somehow, he understood. Sandor Clegane stood and paced the room for a moment before turning back to her, his eyes alight with anger again.  
  
"No one knows the fear of being trapped better than someone who's been burned, girl," he snarled, gesturing to the ruined side of his face.  
  
*******  
  
Why did he always end up so _angry_ around her? Deep down Sandor knew that Sansa Stark had not done or said anything wrong, but seven hells, when she _looked_ at him...it was as if she could see every secret he'd held inside for all these years - more than two-thirds of his life, really. And some of those secrets...well, _she_ was the last person who should ever know _some_ of them.  
  
When a knock came at the door and the lock clicked open again, a small servant girl carried in a platter of cold meats and cheeses with bread on the side, and a large jug of quality wine. She was a pretty girl with the pale blonde hair and bright eyes of a Lysene; likely Chataya was raising her to sell as a virgin in a few years or so. The little bird was as always unfailingly polite, even to this future whore, and when the child had left the room and locked the door behind them Sansa Stark finally stood. There was a washbasin in the corner with a pitcher and cloth beside it, and Sandor turned away as she wiped away the dust and blood from her face and hands and fixed her hair. He tipped the wine jug to his mouth and drank deeply, finishing off near a third of it before setting it down. When he turned the girl was there just behind him, her closeness startling.  
  
"Thank you," she said softly, reaching for his hand. He jerked it away, but not before her fingers brushed his, leaving a burning trail in their wake. Sandor grunted.  
  
"For what? Tearing you away from a rapist and then bringing you to a brothel?" he asked, and laughed. But his laugh was loud, harsh, and his smile was more of a grimace. The little bird cringed and looked away from him.  
  
 _There you go, dog. That's what you want, isn't it? For her to be frightened of you? To make sure that she_ can't _look at you?_ Sandor picked up the wine jug and took another long pull. The drink was strong and he'd eaten naught but a small breakfast; if he kept this up he'd be drunk off the one jug. _Just as well. Someone else can take care of her, then._  
  
But he knew that wasn't true. He was in this for the long haul and he'd known he'd have to be when he agreed to help whisk Sansa Stark away from King's Landing. With a frustrated growl he slammed the jug back on the table and attacked the plate of food, tearing at a hunk of bread.  
  
He almost didn't hear her when she whispered, "Are...are you angry with me?"  
  
Sandor spread his hands and pressed his palms down on the table, hanging his head and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. _She never knows when to leave well enough alone,_ he thought, but he forced himself to set his bread down and turn to face her.  
  
"I'm not angry with you," he said, hoping that would be enough. But her face seemed to light up at this admission; she even gave him a small smile.  
  
"We're not going back to the Red Keep?" she asked. "We're leaving King's Landing?"  
  
"Aye," he nodded.   
  
"Then you truly are my Florian!" she cried, and rushed at him. Sandor was so surprised that he didn't have time to move out of her path, and suddenly the little bird's arms were around him, her grip surprisingly strong as she hugged him, pressing her face into the lower part of his chest in a way that no woman had ever done. He knew that he ought to extract himself from her, but for a moment he let his arms rest by his sides, let her _hold_ him. When Sandor finally did move, reaching around and removing her arms from around his waist, he pushed her away as gently as possible.  
  
"Florian was a fool - _and_ a knight. I'm neither of those, little bird," he reminded her.  
  
"No," she agreed, gazing up at him with something like understanding in her eyes. "But you saved me all the same."   
  
*******  
  
She wasn't sure what had possessed her to fly at the Hound and _hug_ him; she'd actually been shocked when he hadn't immediately pulled away. Of course he separated himself from her eventually, though, and when he did...it was as if she could _feel_ the absence of his warmth, his strength, his presence that was at once frightening and reassuring.  
  
When she complimented him for saving her, the Hound looked at her as if...as if she was a child, and Sansa couldn't stand it. "Why do you look at me like that?" she heard herself ask.  
  
He averted his eyes. "Like what?"  
  
"Like you don't care. About me. About...anything."  
  
"Because I don't, little bird."  
  
She knew it was a lie, and she couldn't let it persist. "Yes you do. You _saved_ me. Why would you do that, if you didn't care?"  
  
"Because someone told me to."  
  
This was the truth, and she knew it. He was, above and beyond anything, _loyal_. But who had asked him to save her, and why had he felt the need to obey? He was supposed to be Joffrey's dog, _Cersei's_ dog, and certainly neither one of them...  
  
"You saved me because you would rather be mine," she stated, because there was no other explanation.  
  
The Hound tensed so suddenly that she could _see_ it. "You don't know what you're saying, little bird."  
  
But she did. She _did._ "If I wanted you for mine...my sworn shield..." She waited for him to respond.  
  
Finally, "If you wanted me for yours, girl, would it be as your sworn shield?" The opening was there, and his sarcasm was evident. Sansa bit her lip. She couldn't deny that she...what? Trusted him? _Cared_ for him?  
  
 _He is the only person who has ever truly been honest with you,_ she realized. "My sworn shield. Yes." It wasn't the entire truth, and she immediately knew that he could see as much.  
  
"That's all, then? Your _sworn shield?"_ the Hound's tone was mocking. _  
  
No,_ she wanted to say. _More._ But the words would not leave her mouth, and then, very suddenly, he reached for her. Sansa immediately shied away - and immediately regretted it. The Hound pinched her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him. "If I'm your sworn shield, you may have to look at me. At least once in a while," he warned. But all Sansa could see were his eyes, gray like her father's and Arya's and even her bastard brother Jon's. _"Look at me,"_ he ordered, and she knew that he didn't mean for her to simply look at - or into - his eyes. He wanted her to _see_ him.  
  
Sansa reached up and pressed her palm to the Hound's cheek. "I will look upon you whenever you want me to do so," she promised.  
  
He stared at her, and it was as if...as if he could see right through her. He relaxed against her touch and blinked - no, _closed_ \- his eyes. For a moment, two, three. _My Florian._  
  
Suddenly, and without knowing why, Sansa stood on her toes, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his.   
  
*******  
  
Nothing had ever shocked him so much as when Sansa Stark kissed him. For a moment Sandor kept his eyes closed, feeling her mouth on his, her lips unmoving, a thoroughly childlike and almost _innocent_ kiss.  
  
And then _Seven hells_ \- he realized what was happening, truly realized it, and fast as he could Sandor backed away from the little bird, so fast that he nearly stumbled, he who was always so sure of foot.  
  
"What the _fuck_ are you playing at, girl?"  
  
But the little bird didn't answer him. She only looked...confused. And then she flushed - a deep, pretty pink - and looked down at the floor, mumbling, "I...I thought..."  
  
"Thought what, little bird? That because I told you that you'd have to look at me, I'd want something else from you as well?" Sandor snorted as if this was the most ludicrous idea in the world, while at the same time something in him was fairly _thrumming_ at the very clear knowledge that Sansa Stark had kissed him.  
  
 _Of her own accord. You must not forget that part, dog._  
  
Sandor felt a mean sort of grin spread across his face. "Or did you _want_ to kiss me, little bird?"  
  
Sansa Stark looked back up at him, wildly, seeming both scandalized and shocked. "No, my lord, I...I..."  
  
"No?" he repeated, narrowing his eyes at her. Sandor didn't know what she'd been trying for with that kiss - whether it was some meager thanks for taking her away from Joffrey, or...could she possibly want something else from him, and think that some childlike kiss would help her to get what she wanted? Sandor decided that he didn't want to know. "Spare me," he growled, waving her off and turning back to the food and wine. For some time he sipped at the jug with his back to her, brooding over what she'd done, _why_ she would have possibly done it, until at long last the door opened again and the beautiful young woman who entered introduced herself as Alayaya.  
  
"Have you eaten?" she asked. "Are you ready?" Sandor threw a glance over his shoulder at the little bird, who merely gave a small nod, refusing to meet his eyes.  
  
"Aye, let's get this over with," he grunted.  
  
They were led back out into the hall and up more stairs to a room in the turret. When Alayaya had closed the door behind them, she beckoned them to the wardrobe. "the back panel," she said softly, and Sandor was almost surprised to find himself reaching for Sansa Stark's small hand, grasping it in his own and pulling her into the wardrobe. He came into contact with the panel that the dark-skinned girl had spoken of and pushed it aside, finding the ladder just beyond at the same time that Alayaya shut the wardrobe door behind them.  
  
"Come," he said gruffly, quickly wrapping his arm around the little bird and clasping her body against his as he hoisted himself onto the ladder and began climbing down. She was trembling - the girl who had just kissed him, bold as anything, was _trembling_ because he was carrying her down a damned ladder.  
  
It seemed forever before they reached the bottom and he released her, straightening as much as he could in the slanted underground passage.  
  
Waiting for them there, candle in hand, was Lord Varys.   
  
*******  
  
She didn't even know why she'd kissed him, yet that one action seemed to have ruined...everything. Something about the kiss itself hadn't seemed right, anyway - when Sansa had felt the contrast of the Hound's lips, one side soft and the other rough and almost scratchy against hers...she'd wanted... _more_. But just as she'd worked up the courage to open her mouth in an attempt to emulate the kiss she'd once seen a man use on a kitchen wench at Winterfell, Sandor Clegane had broken their embrace. Broken it, and then refused to look at her. For so long that she'd lost track of time, until the girl arrived and took them to the turret.  
  
And then he'd picked her up in his arms to carry her down the ladder and her heart had begun thumping in her chest. She was shaking, but she didn't know why, and when he set her down she'd searched out his face - but he wasn't looking at her, and when she'd turned to see Varys the eunuch...  
  
 _How did he find us?_ she wondered in a panic - and then when the Hound greeted Lord Varys she felt something clutching at her chest again. _It's all been a trap,_ Sansa thought, and for a moment she wondered if she would faint.  
  
"My dear, are you all right?" Lord Varys suddenly asked, and she felt his soft and doughy hand brush against her arm. Sansa jerked back, stumbling into the Hound and feeling his strong hands grasp her shoulders. She felt suddenly fortified.  
  
"I...I'm fine."  
  
"Good, good," the eunuch simpered. "Shall we be going, then?"  
  
The Hound's hands tightened their grip. "Out of the city?" he insisted.  
  
"Of course, of course," Varys fairly giggled. "Do you truly think I would lead you astray, Clegane?"  
  
Something like a snarl rose in the Hound's throat; Sansa heard it and realized that while this was in fact part of the plan, he rightly enough didn't quite trust Lord Varys.  
  
 _He wants to keep me safe,_ she knew, and wondered how for even a moment she could have doubted as much.  
  
They walked down the tunnel for some time and finally emerged in a small stable where two large mules were waiting for them. "You will find your horse at the Inn at the Crossroads. You know it?" the eunuch asked. The Hound gave a brusque nod, and the eunuch wrung his hands together. "I'd have made closer arrangements, but things didn't go...quite as planned. I'll need you to take on another charge, in fact."  
  
"Another charge?" Sandor Clegane snarled. "As if the girl isn't enough, spider?"  
  
Sansa felt a surge of anger. Had she troubled him so much?  
  
But her frustration was soon forgotten, replaced again by that pressing sort of trepidation as an obviously dirty and shaken boy stepped out of the shadows. He was naught but two years her senior, with beautiful golden curls and eyes that were so like the Queen's...  
  
"Fucking _Lannisters,_ " the Hound rasped, and rather than his language shocking her as it usually did, Sansa could not help but agree.   
  
*******  
  
Just when he'd been thinking that he was well rid of the Lannisters, the damned spider throws _this_ in his lap - Tyrek, nephew of the fucking Queen, a handsome little golden boy like Joffrey to share their escape and their journey.  
  
Part of Sandor knew that it was better this way, better for him to not be alone with the little bird - especially for so long. _Especially after what just happened..._ He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of the memory of her kiss.  
  
Trying not to think about how it would likely take only a few sweet words from this comely little fool for Sansa Stark to think herself in love with Tyrek as she'd thought herself in love with Joffrey.  
  
"Someone will collect the boy at the Inn - your claiming of your horse will be the signal that you are the man they are looking for. Unfortunately the two mules were all I had waiting, and finding another - or taking a horse - well, I feared this would arouse some suspicion. You and the girl must ride together, Clegane, and I do suggest you bind the boy's hands and keep a close eye on him. He knows why he must leave and I've told him he will be kept safe, but..." Varys made a helpless gesture, and Sandor understood. Lannisters were loyal only to Lannisters; Lannisters _trusted_ only Lannisters.  
  
"Bind him, then," Sandor grunted, and Varys smiled up at him, a sly look that Sandor didn't care for.  
  
Finally, with Tyrek Lannister's hands bound together and his mule's reins looped around the saddle of the animal carrying Sandor and the little bird, they made their way out into the streets. It was night, but lanterns and candles and fires still burned in most windows as Sandor and his _charges_ \- he grimaced at the word - made their way out of the city. The men at the Dragon Gate were Varys's, the eunuch had assured them of that, and they passed without receiving so much as a second glance - though this had to be due in part to the fact that both Tyrek and Sansa Stark were now cloaked in heavy dark wool, large hoods covering their recognizable hair and dropping down over their young faces. Sandor wore a much larger version of the same and knew that the guards saw nothing but his eyes glinting from within the shadows of his own hood as they left King's Landing and struck north to meet with the kingsroad.   
  
*******  
  
She did not like this inclusion of Tyrek Lannister - not one bit - but at the same time Sansa felt a strange thrill at the fact that she was to ride with Sandor Clegane. She tried to tell herself that it was only because she knew his close proximity was best in terms of keeping her safe, that there was truly nothing else on her mind...yet her thoughts kept harkening back to that moment when she'd kissed him and he'd - what? hesitated? - before pulling away.  
  
Lord Varys had promised them a shelter for the night, but it was several hours' ride from the city. Sandor had fought the very idea of stopping so close, but the eunuch had insisted and for this Sansa was glad. She'd been fighting an overwhelming exhaustion ever since they'd been locked in that room at the brothel, and as they made their way up the road she could barely keep her head from lolling to the side as her heavy lids closed over her eyes and she forced them open again and again and again.  
  
At some point Sansa must have failed in her attempts to keep awake, because the next thing she knew a thick, strong arm was wrapped around her back, another lifting her from the saddle from under her thighs, and then she was nestled against a broad, hard chest and being carried for a few moments. When the Hound laid her down it was on a musty, lumpy straw pallet, but before she could speak to him he was gone. Sansa blinked blearily, for a moment frightened, not wanting to be left alone - but soon enough he returned, pulling a bound Tyrek Lannister by the arm and depositing the boy on a second pallet.  
  
The Hound approached and knelt over her, but seemed startled to find her awake. The surprise that flitted over his face quickly turned to annoyance, and he stood abruptly. "Sleep, little bird. You'll need all the rest you can get." She gave a small silent nod, but he had already turned away and barked, "You too, boy. And don't think about trying to leave - I'll be right here by the door. Blocking it."  
  
Sansa neither saw nor heard Tyrek Lannister's reply, if he gave one at all. As soon as she knew that Sandor Clegane would be just there, guarding her from harm, she allowed herself to quickly fall into a deep - and for the first time in a long time, dreamless - sleep.   
  
*******  
  
Varys had made this easier than Sandor ever could have expected - still, mistrust of the eunuch festered in the back of his mind. Sandor fell asleep against the door of the abandoned holdfast that first night and jerked awake at dawn, rousing the little bird and the Lannister brat so that they were well on their way before the gray and the fog of the early morning was broken by the rising sun.  
  
"It will be at least a fortnight before we reach the Inn and get rid of Tyrek," Sandor mumbled to the little bird as they rode. Despite his worries that the boy would speak to her, Tyrek remained sullen and silent and Sansa Stark continued to cast worried, almost _frightened_ , glances his way.  
  
At his words, she twisted around and peered just behind them and to the right where Tyrek sat atop his mule, hands still bound. Sandor shifted uncomfortably as she squirmed against him, first turning to look at the boy and then settling herself back into place. For several long moments the girl was silent.  
  
"Where will we go after the Inn?" she finally asked, but as usual he didn't have an answer for her. Not that he wanted Tyrek to know that.  
  
"Not here, little bird," he warned, causing her to glance back at the Lannister brat again. _Gods, if she keeps moving around like this..._ Sandor thought, gritting his teeth. _She may look like a woman, but she is a girl still in love with songs and stories, a girl who kisses like a child,_ he reminded himself.  
  
Still, it was a long day in the saddle with Sansa Stark nestled between his legs.  
  
*******  
  
They reached their second stop some time after the sun had set, just when the sky was finally beginning to fade from purple to black, the stars becoming bright beacons rather than the blurry pinpoints they'd been during the twilight hour. This time it was an inn, though Sandor insisted that they share a single room again. "I prefer to keep an eye on both of you," he rasped. Otherwise it appeared that Lord Varys had provided for them amply, as the innkeep kept his eyes averted from their faces and promised that no one else would be staying at the inn that night.  
  
"But you'd best be on your way first thing tomorrow," the man insisted. Sansa could see that he did not particularly care for their presence, though she was sure that the spider must have paid him well to keep every other room in his inn empty for an entire night.  
  
The Hound clearly didn't quite trust the situation either. He escorted Sansa and Tyrek up to their room, bound the boy to a bedpost and mumbled something about wine and "Questioning this fool innkeep" before leaving them, barring the door from the outside as he went. She heard him trudge down the stairs and with a sigh she sat down on the edge of the bed - as far away from Tyrek Lannister as she could get.  
  
For a long time they sat silently in the room, the fire flickering in merrily in the hearth but instilling none of its warmth or brightness in Sansa's heart. She was shocked when Tyrek suddenly spoke; he'd not said a word the entire time he'd been with them. Not when Lord Varys transferred him to Sandor Clegane, not throughout their rides, not even in the abandoned holdfast last night or this morning.  
  
"The spider told me that I had to leave King's Landing, or my aunt the Queen would have me killed. I know too much of Robert's death, he said. Lancel was in too deep, but _me_ he could save.  
  
"Well I didn't want saving. _Don't_ want it," Tyrek said fiercely. "My family will come for us. They'll find us. And when they do, they'll kill you. You _and_ that dog."  
  
Sansa felt suddenly sick to her tummy. She wanted to lash out at Tyrek, to scream at him, to slap him, but none of this was ladylike. And beneath her thin veil of anger was the far more prevalent feeling of fear, because it would not surprise her if the Lannisters found them. It would not surprise her at all. _But he must not know that._  
  
"You don't know what you're talking about," she replied, forcing a mocking tone into her voice. "No wonder Lord Varys told Sandor to tie you up. I'll make sure he hears from me as well that you're not to be trusted."  
  
" _Sandor_ , is it?" Tyrek scoffed. "Gods, you're as stupid as Joffrey always said." He turned away from her with a mean little laugh.  
  
Tears pricked at the corners of Sansa's eyes. She'd felt the impropriety of calling the Hound by his given name almost as soon as it had left her mouth, but she didn't think that's what Tyrek meant. At least not entirely. She suddenly felt trapped again, the walls of the room closing in on her...but the door was locked, she had nowhere to go...  
  
 _The window._ Glancing around the room to make sure that there was nothing with which Tyrek could possibly free himself, Sansa made for the casement with its warped, low-quality glass. She had to fiddle with the latch for several moments, and it took all her strength to push it open, but finally it swung wide, sending a gust of fresh chill air over her and into the room behind. She looked over her shoulder to see Tyrek glaring at her, and for an instant she was seized with the desire to stick her tongue out at him. But that was something Arya would have done, not Sansa who was a lady, and instead she leaned out of the window and breathed deeply, trying to calm herself.  
  
It was then that Sansa noticed the roof, not two feet below the base of the window and barely sloped at all. She remembered her brother Bran and how he'd scaled the walls of Winterfell, played on its roofs and perched on its gargoyles. She'd never been adventurous like that, but just now all Sansa wanted was to clamber out the window and sit under the open sky.  
  
And be away from Tyrek Lannister.   
  
Her decision made, Sansa carefully stepped out onto the roof, one foot at a time, clinging to the frame of the window for support. For one frighteningly blessed moment she let go and stood, feeling the breeze whip her skirts and her hair, but then her heart was in her throat and she sat heavily, her fingers scratching at the wood beneath her for support. Once settled, though, that feeling of excitement came back, and she lay down against the roof to gaze up at the stars.  
  
She wasn't quite sure how long she laid there, though she did begin to feel a bit cold...and then, very suddenly, she felt a stab of pain below her tummy, so sharp that it caused her to jerk upright and clutch at herself. She lost her purchase then and scrambled to find it, bile rising in the back of her throat as she realized that she was about to slip and fall to the ground two tall stories below.  
  
And then strong fingers wrapped about her arm to hold her in place, and the Hound's voice rasped angrily, "The little bird thinks she has wings, does she? Do you want to end up crippled like that brother of yours?"  
  
*******  
  
In hopes of alleviating the innkeep's worries, Sandor had used plenty of the coin Varys had given him to buy wine and ale and get the man good and drunk. Stupidly, though, Sandor had enjoyed much of the wine as well - and nearly forgotten that he'd left the little bird and the Lannister brat upstairs, alone, without food.  
  
His alarm at finding Tyrek Lannister by himself in the room, the window wide open, when Sandor returned had quickly turned to anger when he saw Sansa Stark laying on the roof and....what, _star-gazing_? He'd opened his mouth to yell at her, but before he said a word the girl had sat up with a gasp, grabbing at her stomach and beginning to slip...  
  
Sandor didn't think he'd ever moved so fast. He squeezed through the window - barely able to fit - and grabbed for her just in time. "The little bird thinks she has wings, does she? Do you want to end up like that crippled brother of yours?" He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he shouldn't have said such a thing, but in his anger and his drunkenness he almost didn't care.  
  
"I wasn't going to fall," the little bird replied, but she was trembling so violently that he knew she was lying. His grip tightened automatically, tightened too much, and Sansa Stark looked up at him fearfully. "I..." she began, then stopped and took a deep breath. "Thank you."  
  
"For saving you again?" he pressed. "I'm not quite sure you ever properly thanked me for saving you the first time." _Gods, that damned wine._  
  
"I..I suppose I didn't," she whispered. "I should have. You were very...brave."  
  
"Brave?" he asked, incredulously. "A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats. They had me thirty to one, yet none of them dared face me."  
  
She wriggled against his grip and peered up at him, but Sandor could not read the look in her eyes. "Does it give you joy to scare people?" she asked softly.  
  
"No, it gives me joy to kill people," Sandor replied automatically, though it wasn't what he'd _meant_ to say. Not truly. He felt his mouth twitch in frustration, and when he looked back at the little bird he hated both her and himself for the disgusted look on her face. "Wrinkle up your face all you like," he growled, "but spare me this false piety. You were a high lord's get. Don't tell me Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man."  
  
She looked unsure for a moment, and this pleased him - until she chirped, "That was his duty. He never... _liked_ it."  
  
"Is that what he told you?" When she looked at him he saw the truth in her eyes. "Well, your father lied," Sandor said with an angry chuckle. He reached down and drew his longsword from his scabbard; slowly, as it was difficult to do while sitting down. "Killing is the sweetest thing there is, and here's your truth. Your father found his truth on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Hand of the King, a mighty man descended from an eight-thousand-year-old line...but Ilyn Payne's blade sliced his head off all the same. One quick, clean cut and your father was dead. Do you remember the way his legs danced when his head was separated from his shoulders?"   
  
_Why was he saying these things?_ For once Sandor didn't know. He was drunk, sure, but more than that he could not forget how he'd felt just minutes before, when he'd let himself into the room, locking the door behind him, and turned to see her _gone_. And the window...he'd never felt so afraid of anything but fire, until the thought of losing her...the idea that she had left, the even worse possibility that she had been _taken_...Varys knew where they were, and only the gods knew what that fucking eunuch was ever up to...  
  
He was brought back to the present moment when the little bird asked, "Why are you always so hateful? I was _thanking_ you."  
  
"Yes, just as if I was one of those true knights you love so well," he scoffed. "You don't even know what knights are for, little bird, but I'll tell you - knights are for killing." With that he turned toward her and placed the edge of his longsword against the side of her neck, ever so gently, to punctuate his words. "I've been killing since I was twelve - and not just men. Women and children too. They're meat to me, girl. I'm a butcher...don't you ever forget that. Knights?" He turned his head and spat to punctuate his hatred of the very idea of them. "They can keep their sers. I have this sword" - he pulled it away from her throat - "and there's no man on earth I fear."  
  
"No man," she repeated. "And what about the gods? Aren't you...aren't you afraid that they will send you to some terrible hell, for all this evil you've done?"  
  
"What evil?" Sandor shook his head. He'd done what he was ordered to do; no more, no less. He refused to think of it as evil. "What gods?"  
  
"The...the gods who made us all..." Sansa Stark sounded suddenly unsure, and he latched on to that.  
  
"All of us, little bird? Even that little monster the Imp, and Lady Tanda's half-wit daughter? If there are gods, they made the weak so that the strong would have something to play with. To kill."  
  
Sansa Stark had tears in her eyes now, but her jaw was set and her words firm as she said, "True knights protect the weak." Somehow, Sandor knew that she meant this of _him_ , the silly little bird, and _he_ meant to avail her of such a belief, to keep her from squirming in his lap as they rode, to prevent her from ever kissing him - or even ever _trying_ to kiss him - again.  
  
"There are no true knights, no more than there are gods," he intoned. "Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world. Don't ever believe any different."  
  
The little bird stood so abruptly that he was shocked she didn't lose her balance and topple off the edge of the roof. "You're awful," she hissed.  
  
"I'm honest. It's the world that's awful."  
  
Sansa Stark glared down at him, her bright blue eyes flashing in the dark, for several long moments. Then, without another word, she stepped carefully around him and climbed back through the window.  
  
Sandor waited quite a while before re-entering the room himself. When he did he saw that she was curled up on the bed, a blanket covering even her hair, though her face showed pale in the cover's shadows. Her eyes were closed. The boy was asleep, leaning on the bedpost, his head bent awkwardly to one side. With a grunt Sandor lowered himself against the door and tried to follow their lead. His own rest was fitful; the girl had nightmares that night, tossed and turned and cried out so much that he finally stood and moved to the bed, standing over her, unsure what to do. She was crying in her sleep, calling out, "No, no," and mumbling names...her father's, her brother's, and then the names of knights from stories so popular that even _he_ recognized them.  
  
And then, so softly he almost didn't hear - so softly that he wondered if she'd said it at all - Sansa Stark murmured his own name. "Sandor...please..."  
  
Just like that, the decision was made for him.   
  
*******  
  
When Sansa awoke, she was warm. In fact, it felt as if...as if she was _enveloped_. She had a vague memory of a terrible nightmare about the riot, in which the mob swarmed her and pulled her from her horse and though she cried out to be saved, cried for her father and her brothers and the knights of old and even cried out for _him_ , for the Hound, no one heeded her calls and then someone shoved a knife in her belly, stabbing her over and over and over again...  
  
But then she opened her eyes and somehow the terror seeped out of her when she realized how very _comfortable_ she was.  
  
For a moment.  
  
Two things hit her at the same time - one, that she was wrapped in the embrace of Sandor Clegane; the other, that there was a warm, wet, sticky feeling between her thighs, accompanied by a sick and achy feeling throughout her entire body. Strangely enough, the latter concerned her much more than the former. _Am I ill?_ she wondered as she tried to slide out of the Hound's arms as slowly and carefully as possible.  
  
Unfortunately when she moved, a low rumble rose from his throat and he seemed to nestle against her, one of his large hands cupped protectively over her stomach, its pressure and its warmth somehow easing that strange heavy pain within. Sansa almost relaxed against him - and then she remembered their conversation the night before and squirmed away from him, suddenly horrified when she realized that her nightshift was stained red with the same blood that slicked the inside of her thighs.  
  
"No," she whispered, wanting to tear her eyes away from the sight but at the same time unable to look away. _This can't be happening_ now _..._  
  
Her movement had woken the Hound, of course, and at first he sat up groggily - until he saw her staring at him in dismay and was suddenly, obviously, completely awake. His eyes flicked away from hers, and Sansa knew that he was looking at her breasts. The fire long dead and her shift so thin, her nipples had gone hard in the chill room. Sansa automatically raised her hands to cover her chest, which caused Sandor Clegane to look lower...  
  
And then he was off the bed, scrambling away from her as if she'd shoved a burning torch at him. His eyes were blazing as he looked at her - _fearfully_. "Seven hells," the Hound swore. "What - "  
  
Sansa felt her lower lip tremble as she interrupted him, whispering, "I...I think it's my moonblood."


	3. Sworn Shields & Dark Words

At first he hadn't known where he was, woken by the sudden loss of warmth and looking up to see Sansa Stark standing at the edge of the bed. Sandor would have smiled, had she not looked so damn _terrified_. He couldn't tear his eyes away and let them rake over her...  
  
Until he saw the blood.  
  
In the work of a moment he was up, out of the bed, looking from the dark red patch on her shift to his hands and wondering _what the fuck have I done???_ , hearing himself snarl, "Seven hells..."  
  
She gestured helplessly when she said that it was her moonblood, but before either one of them could speak again Tyrek Lannister snorted with disgust. Sandor froze for a moment, then clenched and released his fists once, twice, thrice. As he clenched them he thought how much better it would make him feel to choke the life out of Tyrek, the little shit...but instead he stepped around the bed in two long strides, sliced through the rope that held the boy to the bedpost and dragged him to his feet by the hair, ignoring his outcries. Without looking at the little bird, Sandor mumbled, "I'll have them send a bath up for you. We'll leave when you're done."  
  
Before he could leave the room, though, Sansa Stark squeaked, "I'll...I'll need some cloths, as well. Enough...enough for the journey..."  
  
Sandor couldn't bring himself to look at her; instead he gave a curt nod and left the room, pulling Tyrek Lannister with him.  
  
*******  
  
She could not help but breathe a sigh of relief when the Hound and Tyrek Lannister left the room. For several blessed minutes she was alone, and then the innkeep brought her a tub, dumped a copious amount of hot water into it, placed a sack full of cloths on the bed and left her alone again.  
  
Sansa's nightshift was ruined - there was nothing she could do about that. With a frustrated sigh she yanked it over her head and threw it in the brazier. There was nothing burning in it, just cold ash and coals, but somehow the idea that eventually someone would toss in some kindling and light the thing on fire made her feel...better.  
  
She stepped into the tub then, sliding down into the warm water with a sigh. She wished she had time to enjoy this bath, but she knew that they must leave, and soon...so with resignation she began scrubbing at herself, washing away the mess her first moonblood had made and trying desperately not to think about...anything. Not about her argument with the Hound last night, not about her nightmare, not about waking up in his arms, and most especially _not_ about the fact that she was now a woman in truth.  
  
Once Sansa was clothed in one of the plain dresses Lord Varys had provided, with a clean cloth bunched in her small clothes, she made her way to the inn's common room to find Sandor. He had untied Tyrek's hands and the boy was eating ravenously; suddenly Sansa remembered that she hadn't eaten anything since they'd eaten some dry salted beef on their ride the previous day, and she realized that she was starving. She tried to smile at the Hound - wanting to make peace with him, despite the awful things he'd said; wanting to ask him how he'd came to lie abed with her during the night - but her expression felt as tremulous as it must have seemed to him, and he turned away from her with a dark look about his face.  
  
Sansa ate as quickly as possible and soon they were on their way again, though quite a bit later than they had planned. It wasn't long before she began to feel uncomfortable - she could feel the cloth between her legs grow damp, her lower back ached with a dull and constant pain, and she was plagued with sharp, heavy pangs just below her tummy. She distinctly remembered how much better she had felt during that brief moment when the Hound had laid his large, warm hand on her that morning...but she could not bring herself to ask him to do it again. Instead she found herself leaning back against him, this slight pressure combined with the heat radiating from him easing the pain in her back...slightly.  
  
Her sleep the night before had been short and restless, and soon Sansa found herself drifting. She thought about trying to stay awake, but unbidden the thought came to her that the Hound would not let her fall - after all, she'd fallen asleep while riding the night they'd fled King's Landing - and so she heaved an exhausted sigh and finally let her eyes drift shut.  
  
*******  
  
He wasn't sure what was worse - the fact that he'd been so awful to Sansa Stark for no gods-damned reason, the fact that he'd drunkenly climbed into the bed with her without even asking her permission, or the fact that she'd gone to bed a child and woken up a woman. _But at least she's away from the Lannisters now,_ he thought with a grimace - for surely the little bird's flowering would have meant nothing but sorrow for her were she still in the Red Keep, betrothed to fucking Joffrey and a prisoner in nearly every sense of the word.  
  
All these musings fairly flew from Sandor's mind when she leaned against him in the saddle, fairly pressing her arse and her back into his body...and then she promptly fell asleep, and to keep her from sliding around in front of him he had to lock one arm around her and _hold_ her. Eventually the little bird crossed her arms over his, but it was some time before he realized that she was in fact awake - and _holding_ his arm in place. With a frustrated grunt Sandor let go of her and took the reins in both hands, ignoring her audible sigh. Sansa Stark would apparently never cease to amaze him - calling him her Florian, hugging him, _kissing_ him, and now this? And after the way he had treated her last night...  
  
They rode in silence that day - rode until well after dark to make up for the time they had lost - and bedded down under the trees and stars, as the eunuch had only been able to arrange a handful of places where they could stay throughout their journey. The next day was much of the same, though when they stopped to make camp by the side of a small river the little bird chirped her desire to bathe in its waters.  
  
"And who's going to guard you, girl?" he snarled, his anger incited by the sheer naivete of her request.  
  
She glanced uneasily at Tyrek Lannister. "If you bind him well and we stay fairly close, couldn't _you_ guard me?"  
  
"I?" he asked with a harsh laugh. "Guard you...while you _bathe_? Aren't you worried I'll stand by and leer at your nakedness, or have you become suddenly wanton and no longer care about things like _propriety_?"  
  
The little bird looked as if she was about to cry, and suddenly Sandor felt nearly...ashamed. "I...I need to bathe..." she whispered, and he knew he couldn't deny her. He made fast work of binding Tyrek amongst a group of bushes, binding him so well and so tightly and even covering his mouth, so that the boy would not be able to move much or make a sound. It was the easiest way to ensure that anyone who happened to pass wouldn't hear or see anything...out of the ordinary. Once that was done Sandor led Sansa Stark to the riverbank and turned his back on her. "Quickly, now," he warned. Soon he heard the soft splashes of the girl washing herself, and it was all he could do to not turn around and steal a look. _She's a child, a child, a child,_ he forced himself to remember...  
  
...but then he also remembered the press of her body against his, in the saddle...and in the bed. He remembered that she had her first moonblood _right now_ and that had she remained in King's Landing they likely would have had her wed to and bedded by Joffrey before the year was out. He remembered the kiss she'd given him; an innocent kiss to be sure, yet he so very much wanted to believe...  
  
 _What, you fool dog?_ What _do you want to believe?_  
  
Sandor was so lost in his musings that he didn't hear Sansa Stark finish bathing, didn't hear her climb out of the river, and when she touched him lightly on the shoulder he nearly jumped out of his own skin.  
  
*******  
  
She bathed quickly, stealing glances at the Hound every few seconds. Her tummy fluttered nervously at the idea that he might look 'round, might _see_ her...but he never did, and as soon as she finished she rubbed herself dry with the blanket he'd provided and pulled her dress back over her head. She approached Sandor Clegane cautiously and tapped him on the shoulder - and he spun around with a start, grabbing her wrist in his hand so quickly that she hadn't even known he was going to do it until he was already holding on to her.  
  
Sansa glanced at his hand, then his face, with wide eyes...and his look seemed to soften a bit, as did his grip, as he pulled her toward him and brushed a kiss - soft and rough at the same time - across her lips. Her eyelids drifted shut automatically, but after that brief scrape of his mouth over hers, the Hound released her and stalked back toward where Tyrek and the mules were tethered. She followed automatically, her face flushed red, though she wasn't quite sure why.  
  
They had no fire that night, as the Hound did not want to draw attention to themselves - but it was cold, and Sansa had foolishly wet her hair in the river. By the time it was dry she was already shivering violently, though she couldn't decide whether or not being so cold was worse than the persistent aches that she felt not just in her gut but in her back and her legs as well.  
  
She rolled over and stared at Sandor Clegane's sleeping form. His back was to her, and he was just a few feet away...Sansa bit her lip and slid herself toward him, then rolled over and stretched out with her back pressing against his. It took a little while, but eventually she stopped shivering, and when he didn't move away from her she once again allowed his warmth to lull her to sleep.  
  
*******  
  
He'd lost control of himself for a moment, _just a moment_...and yet that was all it had taken. Sandor wasn't sure what he’d been thinking, kissing her like that...and now the little bird had apparently taken it as some sort of invitation to practically share a bedroll with him! Admittedly, he'd thought about rolling away from her, about once again asking her what the fuck she thought she was doing...yet he hadn't done either, because he could feel her shivering violently for quite some time. And once she'd finally stopped shivering...it felt _nice_ to have her lying there so close to him.  
  
So he didn't push her away, and eventually he drifted off to sleep as well...  
  
...and woke up just as he had two mornings before, with Sansa Stark wrapped in his arms. Only this time Tyrek Lannister was watching them, his eyes narrowed in something that appeared at turns suspicious, confused, and even something like gleeful. Sandor gently disentangled himself from around the little bird and sat up, fixing his eyes on Tyrek, glaring at the boy with every bit of rage he could muster. Tyrek remained silent and soon looked away, but Sandor knew that the little shit wouldn't be forgetting what he'd seen any time soon. _That does not bode well._  
  
Soon they were on their way again, Sansa Stark blushing and stuttering like a fool every time she tried to speak to him and Tyrek constantly watching them, a mean little smile playing across his lips. On the surface Sandor pretended to ignore the little arse, but inside he was seething. _I did not ask for this_ , he thought as the little bird shifted in the saddle, turned her head and smiled up at him radiantly. He shifted his eyes away from her and stared straight ahead, setting his jaw and hoping that she would take the hint.  
  
She didn't. That night Varys had found them another abandoned home - a farm this time - and the girl dutifully waited until he had laid out his own bedroll before placing hers beside it. The same went for the next night and the one after that, when they again slept under the stars. Then there was another inn, and Sandor finally thought he would be able to keep her from sleeping by him...but although she fell asleep in the one bed that was provided, and he drank two jugs of wine and lost consciousness leaning against the door to their room, when he awoke she was curled on the floor next to him, practically in his lap. Her head rested on his chest and somehow his arm had ended up wrapped around her.  
  
Thankfully Tyrek was still asleep when Sandor lifted Sansa Stark away from himself and shook her awake. "What are you doing on the floor, little bird?" he rasped.  
  
She flushed red and looked away from him, biting her lip. "I...I couldn't sleep," she mumbled.  
  
"Last I knew, you were sleeping just fine," he grunted in annoyance. And she had been - he had heard her breaths relaxing, slowly but surely becoming soft and deep, and he had listened to her sleep for upwards of an hour before closing his own eyes. _Just to be sure._  
  
"I had a bad dream," the little bird admitted.  
  
Sandor pushed himself to his feet. "You should have stayed in the bed," he insisted, and went about his business getting them ready to leave. He could feel the girl watching him but refused to look at her. If he kept his distance, eventually she would have to stop smiling at him, sidling up to him, attempting to start conversations with him...right? _Right?_  
  
*******  
  
She wondered if he didn't believe her about the nightmare.  
  
For a few nights her sleeps had been nearly peaceful...but then last night she'd curled up in the bed in the inn alone and woken with sweat on her brow and tears on her cheeks, having dreamt of her lady mother and her brother Robb sitting down to dinner on a bridge – strange, that – and being washed away when the waters rose, sudden and bloody and fierce. Sansa had hardly even thought about what she was doing as she scrambled out of the bed and curled up against the Hound, and though he reeked of wine and was snoring quite loudly she somehow fell back to sleep quickly...and didn't dream any more.  
  
Yet despite the fact that _he_ had kissed _her_ ; despite the fact that he'd allowed her to lay her bedroll beside his on those other nights, he barely spoke to her at all. He even avoided looking at her.  
  
And somehow this felt far worse than the way it had been before, when he'd often eyed and spoke to her with anger.  
  
Sansa wondered how much longer they would be together, and whether she would be able to convince him to stay. In the brothel in King's Landing she had said she wanted him for her sworn sword, but somehow she knew that she must make the request again, or risk Sandor Clegane's trying to forget it, ignore it. And once it was made, would he even heed it?  
  
"Will we have many more days to ride before we reach the Inn that Lord Varys spoke of?" she finally asked late that day.  
  
The Hound shrugged. "Five nights at most."  
  
Sansa sighed. Five more nights of trying to be close to him, because she was sure that was the only thing keeping her nightmares at bay. And when should she request that he remain as her sworn shield? Or was the Hound Lord Varys's dog now, would he return to the eunuch and do _his_ bidding?  
  
"We're over halfway there, girl," Sandor Clegane suddenly rasped. He was trying to make her feel better; he must have thought her...what? Scared? The very idea made Sansa want to snort in derision.  
  
"And when we arrive, will you leave me?" she heard herself ask, her voice very small.  
  
*******  
  
 _Would_ he leave her?  
  
The little bird's question haunted Sandor. Though he'd immediately answered, "I'll do as I'm bid, child," he couldn't stop wondering if that was the truth. What if the next instruction was for him to deliver Sansa Stark to somewhere she wouldn't want to go? There were far too many places in Westeros where she'd be no safer than she'd been in King's Landing, and Sandor knew better than to trust that damned eunuch. Why should he, when Varys had continually refused to tell Sandor the next step of his plan for the girl?  
  
Sandor's thoughts immediately went to the longsword hanging at his hip. They would go to the Inn at the Crossroads and rid themselves of Tyrek Lannister, for a certainty. He would collect Stranger; he would even listen to the next part of his instructions.  
  
But if he didn't like what he heard - or if he told her the plan and _she_ didn't like it - they would change it. He would take her wherever she wanted to go, so long as that place was safer than the one she'd left.  
  
He could be her Florian, even if she was too young to be his Jonquil.  
  
*******  
  
She hadn't meant to blurt out that question, hadn't truly meant to ask him if he would leave her, and when the words did pour forth from her mouth Sansa wanted nothing more than to clap her hand over her lips and take it back. But once it was said, well, it was all she could think about.  
  
Sansa had been separated from everyone she'd cared for. She'd left her mother and brothers in Winterfell and still had no idea if she would ever see them again; or if she did, when in Westeros that would or could possibly be. Her father had been taken from her and Arya was likely dead and gone as well. She hadn't thought about Jory or Fat Tom or Jeyne Poole, or even Hullen the Master of Horse, Vayon Poole the steward, and all the other Winterfell men who had come south with them, for quite some time.  
  
But she thought about them now - thought about them, and realized that for some unfathomable reason, she cared for Sandor more than she had ever cared for most of them...with the exception, of course, of her family. _Can I bear it if he leaves me, if he will not agree to be my sworn sword?_  
  
The answer was no; that much she knew. But all he'd said was that he would 'do as he was bid'...which meant that if he was Lord Varys'... _man_...  
  
It didn't bear thinking about. Instead Sansa considered when and how she would ask Sandor Clegane to stay by her side, as her sworn shield and her honest councilman.  
  
*******  
  
Throughout the next few days, although she continued to place her bedroll just next to his, Sansa Stark was silent. _Silent as the grave,_ Sandor mused, immediately despising himself for even thinking of such a reference. Eventually he began to truly recognize their surroundings, and though they would have to spend their last night before reaching the Inn at the Crossroads sleeping under the stars again, he felt comfortable telling the little bird that they were almost there.  
  
"Truly?" she asked, and though there was hope in her tone, there was something else also, something he couldn't quite place.  
  
"Have I ever lied to you before, girl?" he rasped, and the little bird shook her head solemnly, then bit her lip and turned to stare up at him with wide eyes. "Do you have something to say?" Sandor finally asked.  
  
Sansa Stark glanced uneasily over her shoulder at Tyrek Lannister, as she so often did. "In private, perhaps," she murmured.  
  
And then he couldn't stop himself. Sandor leaned forward, clenching his arms on either side of her, and murmured, "Not sure we'll get much more private than this, little bird."  
  
Several moments passed, but eventually she seemed to resolve herself to the fact that he was right. Sandor felt the little bird steel her shoulders against him before she finally said, "I mentioned that I wanted you as my sworn shield...and I'm concerned that you thought it was a jape. It wasn't. You are the only one who has ever been honest with me, told me what's best for me - even when it wasn't what I wanted to hear. And even if you are Lord Varys' do-" - she stopped herself- "even if you are Lord Varys's now, you still risked your life to save me."  
  
Sandor's laugh was loud and long, though he was laughing at himself just as much as he was laughing at her. He was finally able to hold his chuckles back long enough to say, "You think I'm the _eunuch's_ dog, girl? Do you?" He waited for an answer, but not for long. "Little bird, if I am anyone's now, I am yours." Even as the words left his mouth, he wondered why he'd said them. Honest they may be, but what good were they to him _or_ to her?  
  
*******  
  
She tried not to show it, not wanting Tyrek Lannister to see or hear anything else worth repeating - but Sansa was, dare she feel it... _happy._ The Hound wouldn't leave her, he'd nearly said as much, and suddenly she was looking forward to reaching this Inn at the Crossroads, to ridding themselves of Tyrek Lannister, to going wherever it was they were supposed to go next...because _where_ didn't really matter so much, not when she knew that he would be there to keep her safe.  
  
That night the Lannister boy seemed even more sullen than usual, but this seemed to be for the best as Tyrek didn't complain when Sandor bound him to a tree, but merely turned his back on them and either feigned sleep or actually drifted off to it. And this time when Sansa placed her bedroll next to his, Sandor Clegane did not frown or shake his head - he did not, in fact, protest in any way. They spoke very little, and when they did even the Hound was strangely polite...but none of it felt strained. Rather, their evening was...comfortable. Sandor - though she could not bring herself to call him by his given name out loud, Sansa felt the need to at least get used to _thinking_ of him in a more familiar way - even snaked an arm around her waist to hold her close when she sat beside him and leaned against him. They sat like this for quite some time, and when he silently lay down, stretching out on his back, Sansa moved with him and snuggled close for warmth.  
  
Things would change on the morrow; that much she knew. But for now she had Sandor's word that he would not leave her, and his touch to reassure her that he was still there.  
  
*******  
  
The sun was beginning to hang low in the west when they rode up to the Inn at the Crossroads the following day. It was a haunted-looking place now, when it had once been a busy and nearly halfway decent establishment. Sandor kept his hand on the hilt of his sword as they approached, but apparently the eunuch had once again paid and trusted the right people, because they met with no trouble. Sandor delivered their mules to the stables and was showed to the stall where Stranger was being kept; how Varys had found someone to get the stallion here so quickly was something Sandor didn't want to consider. In fact, how Varys had found someone who could or would handle the temperamental destrier at _all_ was something Sandor _refused_ to consider.  
  
Once he had ascertained that the Inn was safe enough and that Stranger was ready in case they had to move on at a moment's notice, Sandor took the little bird in one hand and Tyrek Lannister's bindings in the other and made for the common room.  
  
They were greeted with wine and ale and a hot meal, and when they were finished tucking in Sandor wasn't surprised when they were approached by a slim foreigner. The man's raiment was plain but obviously of very high quality; his accent was barely noticeable but spoke of the free cities, likely Pentos. "And you are?" Sandor asked, curling his hand over the hilt of his sword as he stood to block the little bird and the Lannister git.  
  
"No names here, my friend," the man replied, his eyes on Sandor's sword.  
  
"And why not? You surely know who _we_ are," the little bird chirped. Sandor turned to glare at her; chastened, she took her wine cup in hand and stared at it as she took a long, slow sip.  
  
The man looked at Sansa Stark, his expression curious...but not in a threatening way, it seemed to Sandor. "I'm to take the boy," the man explained. "And I had instructions to you from our mutual friend, but unfortunately" - here he glanced at the little bird again - "recent events have forced said friend to make...a last-minute change."  
  
That glance, Sandor did _not_ like. "Recent events?" he grunted, but the man - who was still eying Sansa - just shook his head and handed Sandor two sealed letters.  
  
"You must read this one first," the man directed, passing one to Sandor. "It will contain the details. The second one came by raven this morning, and I'm guessing it does not have details for that. I was given the first one by our friend some time ago, and I assure you that he would not have sent a message by raven unless something dire happened."

_Dark wings, dark words._

Both letters were still sealed with wax, the imprint of a spider pressed into it; whatever the eunuch had done or said, this man was obviously some shade of loyal. _That_ , Sandor could respect.  
  
He opened the first letter.  
  
*******  
  
They had supped, and she'd had a bit too much to drink. The wine was there, after all, and tasted so good after their journey and no two nights spent in the same place. But the foreign man who approached them handed those letters to the Hound and took his leave with Tyrek Lannister, and after Sandor had read the letters he'd taken her by the hand and dragged her back to the stables where his scary black stallion was waiting.  
  
"Where are we _going_?" Sansa asked, aware that her voice sounded whiny. "It's near dark, I thought we were to stay here..." _A bed,_ she thought, _I wanted to sleep in a bed again..._  
  
"Can't stay here," he growled, and if she hadn't known something was wrong before, she did now.  
  
"What's happened?" She twisted against his grip. "What did that man mean, what did the letters say?"  
  
"You don't want to know, girl," Sandor admitted as he picked her up. She could feel his strong warm hands trembling when he gripped her waist and set her on Stranger's back. He swung up behind her and spurred the horse on, leaving the Inn behind. They rode for hours, even after the sun had set and the moon had risen. When Sansa thought to complain about her dry throat and mouth and pounding head, Sandor slowed the horse and reached into a pack, bringing out a wineskin. "Drink this," he ordered. "You need it."  
  
Sansa wasn't sure what he meant; it could only be the wine she'd drunk at the Inn that made her feel this way in the first place. But she sipped from the skin anyway, because she was used to doing what she was told...and the wine _did_ taste good, did ease her headache and the feeling that she was chewing on cloth.  
  
Finally they had to stop. The moon had lit their way for a while, but now it was hidden behind clouds and the rutted road was dangerous in such darkness. When Sandor lifted her from Stranger's back, his hands clenched over her sharp hipbones and the pressure made Sansa giggle. _Gods, am I drunk?_ she wondered, pressing her fingertips to her temples. Sandor reached up and took her hands in his, pulling them away from her head.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked, and though as usual he sounded frustrated he also sounded...concerned. Sansa looked up, looked into his eyes, those gray eyes...  
  
"I'm fine," she murmured, suddenly remembering what it felt like to have his lips on hers and wondering... _wishing_...  
  
He released her hands. "We should...set up camp."  
  
 _No._ She grabbed hold of him again. "You _will_ tell me what those letters said?"  
  
Sandor looked away, obviously avoiding her eyes. "Yes."  
  
"You're lying."  
  
He gripped at her hands, so hard that it hurt, and pulled her toward him so that she was pressed against his chest. "You want to know what was in those letters, girl? Because if I didn't tell you the exact words, it would be for your own good."  
  
For a moment Sansa felt unsure, but she decided to stay her ground anyway. " _Tell me._ "  
  
"You asked for it," he rasped.  
  
"The first letter said to return you to Winterfell. That you were to rule there while your brother Robb plays at war, as your youngest brothers were mere children.  
  
"The second letter said nothing but 'Winterfell has been taken. Riverrun still stands.'"  
  
Sansa's heart stuck in her throat. _Winterfell has been taken. What does it mean?_ "So we ride for Riverrun?" she whispered.  
  
"Yes," he said. "We ride for Riverrun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I truly enjoyed this prompt and writing this fic, but all good things must come to an end :) I'm not quite comfortable enough with other characters to continue writing this and have SanSan be part of the Catelyn/Robb etc. storyline. But hey...maybe some other time ;) Thanks again for all of the kudos and reviews!


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